


Sweet As Wine

by WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anders Positive, Dom Fenris (Dragon Age), Hawke Just Loves All of His Babies So Much, Jealous Anders, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Hawke have mended their relationship, and are enjoying each other’s touch again.  All the time.  In public.  In front of Anders.  Anders is getting really tired of it.  </p><p>Pfff, he’s not jealous.  He just wishes they would stop being all over each other in front of him, stop giving each other those dirty sex looks, and… wait, was one of those dirty sex looks directed at him?</p><p>Warnings: Jealousy at first, though it works out in the end.  Combat violence.  Some spoilers for Anders’s and Fenris’s backstories.  Sexually explicit, including voyeurism, biting, and implied dom/sub roleplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sky overhead was soggy, hanging low and grey like wet cotton.  Harsh gusts of salty wind blew off the ocean and howled through the sharp canyons that crusted the Wounded Coast, but even the wind couldn’t dispel the oppressive humidity.  Anders reached up and wiped sweaty strands of hair from his face.  They hadn’t been walking for long, but it was impossible not to sweat in this weather.

… At least _someone_ was having fun, though.

Anders was bringing up the rear of their group, with Aveline in front, but Fenris and Hawke walked abreast in the middle.  They bumped shoulders occasionally, shooting each other smiles and low whispers.  Anders’s frown deepened as he picked his way along the cliff path.  They’d been like this ever since they mended their relationship, all star-struck gazes and little smiles and… touching.  So much touching.  Like they were trying to make up for lost time.

… In public.  In front of him.  Lucky Anders.

Anders picked his way carefully over a rocky portion of the path, watching his feet so he didn’t stumble.  He didn’t understand the chemistry between those two.  Despite not being a mage himself, Hawke had always been sympathetic to their cause.  He’d helped Anders, he’d protected mages, he’d spoken out against Templar abuses.  And he was… kind.  Snarky and biting, certainly, but Anders liked that about him too.  Kind and snarky and brave, and willing to give everything he had to help people like Anders…

In contrast, Fenris was…  Anders narrowed his eyes as Fenris whispered something to Hawke and snickered.  Fenris was a dick.  A broody, violent, mage-hating _dick._ With stupid hair.

Hawke had lovely hair.  Thick and black and perfect for running fingers through.  If someone were so inclined.  Not that Anders was.

The wind gusted, and stray strands of hair blew back into Anders’s face, sticking to his nose and cheek.  He brushed them away in irritation.

… And why did Fenris even _like_ Hawke?  Hawke was a staunch mage supporter, and as far as Fenris was concerned, all mages should be made Tranquil or put to the sword.  How did the two of them ever stop fighting long enough to make those stupid lovey-dovey faces at each other?

Right there on the path, Hawke leaned towards Fenris and bumped his nose affectionately against the elf’s cheek.  Fenris turned with a smile, and before Anders had time to wince, their lips were meeting.

Anders looked away quickly, his face heating as he turned his eyes out towards the white-capped the ocean instead.  In principle, he wasn’t opposed to witnessing the physical affections of others – he rather enjoyed it, being audience to something intimate and special – but the involvement of a certain homicidal elf really killed it for him.

Especially when Hawke deserved so much better.

From the corner of his eye, Anders glanced back at the pair to see if they were done.  And definitely _not_ in the hopes of glimpsing the slow movement of Hawke’s lips, to see whether his eyes would slide closed in bliss when someone kissed him…

They weren’t kissing anymore, but they were pressed close, Fenris’s arm around Hawke’s waist.  Anders nearly let out a sigh of relief, but just as his shoulders relaxed, Fenris’s head turned.  His green eyes locked onto Anders like knives, pinning him in place.  Anders’s heart leapt into his throat.  Fenris smiled, and the hand that he had placed on Hawke’s waist dropped a few inches and _squeezed._

Hawke jumped in surprise, giving Fenris a shove and a laugh.  “How many times do I have to tell you?  Not with the gauntlets on, they’re sharp!”

Fenris chuckled, low and teasing, and yanked Hawke close again.  Just loud enough for Anders to hear over the gusting wind, he leaned into Hawke’s neck and murmured, “Hawke, you told me you _liked_ it rough.”

Anders stumbled over his feet, biting down a choked noise.  The pounding of his heart got worse when he heard Hawke _growl_ softly and nuzzle his way back to Fenris’s lips.

They were nearly a dozen meters away before Anders realized his feet were planted on the narrow dirt path and hadn’t moved.  He swallowed, his cheeks hot in the humid air as he forced himself to keep walking, wiping away a bead of sweat on his forehead.

… Anyone would be sweating in this weather.


	2. Chapter 2

The bar didn’t smell like roses, but at least it didn’t have the heavy stench of stale vomit and piss that most Lowtown bars did.  Good thing they didn’t let Isabela pick the locale.

Anders clutched a wooden tankard to his chest, the sour smell of mostly-drinkable wine drifting up to curl around his face.  Hawke’s entire party of strange, ragtag allies was all packed into one corner of the bar, laughing and drinking and – in the case of Isabela, Merril, and Varric – gambling.  Something about a group bonding exercise.

At least, that’s what Isabela had pitched, before she started fleecing everyone of their money and asking to be paid back in drinks.

Anders lifted his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip and trying to focus on the absolute slaughter of the card game, and not on the seat to his left where Hawke and Fenris were.

 _Seat,_ singular.  A seat for one person.  Not one person plus one lanky, hateful elf.  Fenris was practically sitting in Hawke’s lap, one arm wrapped around him, and their faces were so close that they must be able to smell the drink on each other’s breath.  They were whispering things, heated things that Anders, unfortunately, would occasionally catch a word of.

“ – so _tight_ – ”

Anders jerked his drink up to his red face so fast that he almost sloshed wine all over himself.  He gulped it down in panic and tried not to watch Fenris’s hand slide up the inside of Hawke’s thigh, brushing over the taut leather that Hawke wore, tried not to listen to Hawke’s soft groan and murmured response.

“ – lick it all better – ”

Anders thumped his tankard down on the table with unnecessary force, pointedly staring at it and not between Hawke’s legs.  That bloody rogue and his bloody figure-hugging leather “armor.”  Anders scowled into his drink.  Hawke’s pants were a crime, but his legs were a sin.  The man was as lean and powerful as a cat, and those damn leather pants showed off every curve, each toned calf, his firm thighs, the stiff bulge in the front that Fenris’s hand was slowly creeping towards –

Anders lifted his mug until it obscured his view of the bar and downed the rest of it in three sour, desperate gulps.  He lowered the cup with an exasperated huff, rubbing a hand over his flushed face. Anders wasn’t a man to drink to excess, but tonight might have to be an exception.

He stood up to get himself another drink, trying to ignore the soft, aroused breath that Hawke let out somewhere behind him, trying to pretend that he didn’t know what Fenris was doing.

The barkeep refilled his tankard with something – it was red, anyway, and smelled like it had probably once been fruit, so that was a bonus – and Anders slid a few coins across the weathered wooden bar in exchange.  He briefly considered staying here at a bar stool rather than returning to the group, but then he would be drinking heavily _alone,_ and that didn’t strike him as healthy.  With a sigh, Anders slid his full tankard off the table and slipped carefully through the crowd back to their corner.

Fenris’s hand, thankfully, was no longer between Hawke’s legs, but the two were still _whispering_ to each other and smiling like they were sharing a private joke.  Hawke glanced up at Anders as he reappeared, his smile brightening for a moment, and Anders couldn’t find it in himself not to return it.

… Hawke would never have allowed him to slink off and drink alone, he realized.   Like a shepherd and his sheep, Hawke kept a watchful eye on his flock.  How one man could find enough love in his heart for all of them – ex pirate captain, blood mage, slave fugitive, deserter apostate – was beyond Anders.  But somehow Hawke managed.

Anders reclaimed his seat with a sigh, lifting his tankard to his lips and taking a sip.  Either he was getting drunk, or this was better than his last cup.  … It was probably because he was getting drunk.

Fenris sucked in a soft, sudden breath, and Anders rolled his eyes before taking another sip.  Not drunk _enough_.

A moment later, Hawke’s low voice tickled his ears.

“Grab that pretty blond hair – ”

Anders frowned down into his drink, his head buzzing.  Bullshit, Fenris’s hair wasn’t pretty.  It was dumb, all over his face like that.  It wouldn’t even look pretty if Hawke’s strong, calloused fingers were… tangled all through it… grabbing a rough fistful… dragging Fenris slowly into a deep, hungry kiss… pushing the elf down to his knees, Fenris’s breath steaming against the lean, hard lines of Hawke’s bare body –

Anders shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the images.  Also, Fenris’s hair wasn’t even blond.  White as snow, some kind of stupid, angry snow.  Anders took another drink.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled.  Anders glanced up and stiffened when he realized that both Hawke and Fenris were _staring_ at him.  Hawke’s face was flushed, his teeth worrying at his lower lip, his arm wrapped around Fenris’s slim body and holding him close.  Fenris wore a smirk that was making Anders’s stomach do strange things.  His heart thumped loud in his ears, the only noise he could make out in the hot, crowded bar.  Fenris leaned towards Hawke’s ear, still watching Anders from the corner of his eye, and whispered something that Anders could almost hear.

“ … look good underneath you… ”

Anders’s stomach tried to jump into his throat.  Eyes wide and face hot, he lifted his drink and took a panicked gulp, tearing his eyes away from the pair.

… They almost sounded like they were talking about _him._


	3. Chapter 3

The Wounded Coast was distressingly humid even along the beach, where you could catch an occasional breeze.  In the jagged canyons that surrounded it, the heat wallowed and sweltered.

It was so damn hot that even Hawke and Fenris didn’t seem to be in the mood to flirt.  Too sweaty for getting even sweatier, Anders supposed.  Even though he felt sticky all over and was going to need a long, cool bath when he got home, Anders was almost grateful for the heat.

No whispers.  No neck nuzzling.  No wandering hands.  No heated looks shot towards him, no taunting smiles directed his way, making him wonder what they were _actually_ talking about…

Anders swallowed, shifting his grip on his staff as he followed Hawke and Fenris down the path, Merrill at his side.  Grateful.  Definitely grateful.

As Anders walked with the group between the high, jagged walls of the canyons, his gaze kept wandering to the movement of Fenris’s hips as the elf walked ahead of him.  Grudgingly, Anders had to admit that he could at least understand Hawke’s physical attraction to Fenris.  The man was… certainly easy to look at.  But how could one feel attraction towards a body without attraction towards the mind?  

More than once, Fenris had looked Anders in the eye and said that all mages were monsters.  Anders couldn’t feel true sexual desire for someone who didn’t believe he deserved to draw breath.  He turned his gaze away from Fenris’s shifting hips, gripping his staff harder than necessary, feeling an angry prickle of electrical magic dance across his fingers.  He couldn’t lie to himself: part of him was upset at Hawke for being with such a man.

Part of him felt… betrayed.

As if to taunt Anders, Fenris reached out with one gauntlet-clad hand and tickled his fingers down Hawke’s arm.  Merrill covered her mouth and giggled, and Anders narrowed his eyes.

“I think it’s sweet,” Merrill whispered in excitement.  

Anders’s face was set in a glower.  “Ah yes, as sweet as Lowtown’s wine.”

“Oh, you’re such a bitter old man.”

“I’m not old.”  Anders frowned.  “ … Or bitter!”

Merrill giggled again.  “Bitter as Lowtown’s wine!”

“I can hear you back there,” Hawke taunted.

“I can hear you up there too!” Anders snapped before he could think better of it.

Hawke looked over his shoulder with a brilliant smile.  “Then I hope you’re enjoying the show.”

Anders’s words caught in his throat.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on leaving it closed.

“Oh, I certainly am!” Merrill offered earnestly, nodding.  “It’s so nice to see people finding love, even with everything happening!”

Hawke laughed.  “You’re always such a ray of sunshine – ”  His smile abruptly vanished.  He held out an arm, and the group halted in the dust.  “Hold up.  I think I hear – ”

There was a whizz, a thunk, and Merrill let out a soft breath and collapsed to the ground.  Anders threw up a magical barrier just in time to feel a poison dart glance off it with an electrical _ting._

“Bandits!” Hawke shouted, drawing his daggers as a swarm of outlaws appeared like ghosts from the canyon rocks and descended upon them.

The bandits were poorly dressed in torn leathers, mismatched scraps of armor, and hateful snarls.  But they were well enough armed, wicked steel clutched in each fist.  Anders cursed under his breath, magic already gathering at the head of his staff.  There were _many_ of them, too many, especially with Merrill down.  He flung out his hand at the nearest bandit, locking her in a brittle prison of ice as he backed towards Hawke and Fenris.  He could hear the two men fighting behind him, but he didn’t dare turn when there were four bandits bearing down on him.

“Get the mage!” one of them shouted.  Anders cursed again and flung a wall of force at another bandit, flinging her backwards, but he could hear more shouting.  “We flay your kind alive around here, spell-slinger!”

“Buy me a drink first!” Anders shot back.  One of the bandits was nearly upon him, so he spun his staff and cracked it over the man’s head.

“Take him out first, he’s the most dangerous!”

“I disagree!” Anders shouted in response.  “The other two are far more dangerous and worthy of your attention!”  He grunted and heaved a fire spell at the bandit he had hit, and the man went up in flames with a shriek.  “And more to the point,” Anders continued, “they’re better armored than me!  Go attack them instead!”

“Enough talk, mage!”

A sword slammed into his side, nearly bowling him over, and only the sharp crackle of his barrier saved him from a bleeding wound.  Panting, his magic reserves already taking a blow, Anders threw an arc of lightning at the bandit who had attacked him.  The man spasmed, the sword dropping from his limp hand as his whole body twitched and fell limply to the ground.

“I’ll cut up your pretty face, mage!”

The voice was right behind him.  Anders spun, his staff raised in a desperate defense, only to see a snarling woman stagger and collapse dead at his feet.  Hawke stood behind the fallen woman, panting, his daggers dripping.

“That would be a damn shame,” he grunted.  

Something warm stirred in Anders’s chest, a happy glow that almost seemed to restore his magic.  He fired a magical bolt over Hawke’s shoulder, catching a bandit in the chest.

“Good to see someone else is invested in my pretty face,” he panted, swinging his staff around again to face the bandits behind him.  He held his hand out, letting his magic swirl through the staff before leaping from his fingertips, and a frigid spray of ice engulfed the bandits before him.

There was a dull thunk and Hawke gasped in pain.  Anders spun back around.

“Archer!” Hawke hissed, snapping off the arrow shaft that had buried itself in his arm before turning his knives towards the nearest bandit.

Anders turned to scan the cliffs, his heart pounding.  He could hear Fenris snarl, hear the heavy _thunks_ of the warrior’s sword slamming into more than one foe per swing.  If the archer was on the ground, Hawke or Fenris could take care of it.  If they were up…

High on the cliffs, behind a bush, Anders caught a flicker of movement.  He narrowed his eyes and raised his staff.   _There._

He sent the most powerful frost spell he had, and it caught the archer dead in the chest.  The woman didn’t even have a chance to scream before her body crackled into solid ice, steaming in the sweltering evening.  

He lowered his gaze in time to see a bandit fall to Fenris’s sword.  The canyon was littered with bodies, and Anders was just starting to believe that they had this fight handled when he heard a dull, sickening crack behind him.  

Anders spun, and his stomach dropped.  Hawke lay motionless on the ground, his daggers fallen from his limp hands, and standing over him was a massive man holding a blood-splattered maul.  The bandit gave Anders a broken-toothed grin, stepping over Hawke’s limp body.

“I like mages,” the huge bandit rumbled, his voice thick with Ferelden accent.  “No armor.  They squish better.”

Anders backed up, digging deep into what was left of his magic.  There wasn’t much.  The bruiser lumbered towards him slowly, his maul dragging in the dust, Hawke’s blood smearing on the ground.  Anders risked a glance to his right, where he could hear Fenris fighting.  He wasn’t sure if he could take this man out alone…

Fenris was panting hard, ripping his sword free from a bandit’s limp body while three more surrounded him.  For just a second, he glanced up, and their eyes met.  

Anders almost opened his mouth to call for help, but the words caught in his throat.  Fenris’s eyes narrowed, and without another glance back, he turned to face the bandits.  Something cold twisted in Anders’s stomach.

… _Is he going to let me die_?

He could only spare a second to look at Fenris.  Anders pulled his attention back to the bandit with the maul, gripping his staff with white knuckles as the man lifted his heavy weapon with a roar.  Anders jumped out of the way as the massive maul crashed into the stones where he had been standing, splitting one of them in half, sending jagged shards of rock flying through the air.  He thrust his staff out and let a powerful burst of electricity crackle from the tip, burning through the air and striking the bruiser in the chest.  The man staggered, letting out a roar like a wounded beast, and raised his maul once more.

… _He’s going to let me die._ Anders struggled to jump clear of the bruiser’s next blow, his heart pounding in his chest.  His back was to Fenris now, and he didn’t dare turn.  There was no one else to come to his aid.  If Fenris’s help arrived “too late,” no one would ever have reason to think that the man had intended for Anders to die.  Not even Hawke.

Shaking, Anders fired three quick bolts at the advancing bandit.  The huge bruiser grunted at each impact, advancing with slow, thumping steps.  Anders felt his back bump against the canyon wall, and his hands trembled on his staff.  The bandit raised his maul with a roar, and Anders threw all the magic he had into one more barrier and the most powerful fire spell he could muster.

The heat rippled through the wooden shaft of the maul, reducing it to black ash in the bruiser’s hands.  the massive stone head of the weapon _exploded,_ unable to withstand the heat, and shards of stone whistled through the air as sharp and fast as arrows.  They clattered uselessly off of Anders’s magical shield, but buried themselves in the bruiser’s bare face and arms.

The man shrieked and bellowed, but instead of staggering back, his arms finished their blow, one fist crashing across Anders’s face hard enough to knock him to the ground and send his head spinning.  Anders groaned, trying to use his staff to push himself up as the shattered remains of his magical barrier crackled and flickered.  He didn’t have enough magic left to restore it.  He felt a powerful hand fist in the back of his cloak, yanking him upright before throwing him onto his back.

“ _Fenris_!”  The word ripped out of Anders in pure desperation as the bruiser tried to pin him down.  He swung his staff up frantically, but the bandit caught it with a snarl, ripping it out of Anders’s hand and tossing it away.  Anders flung out his hand and focused as hard as he could on throwing one more bolt of fire, _anything,_ but all that burst from his fingertips was a handful of sparks.  Before he had time to cry out for help again, the bruiser’s thick fingers locked around his throat, choking off his words.

“ _Squish,_ mage,” the bruiser snarled, squeezing.

There was a low, meaty _thud._ The bruiser’s face melted into surprise for a moment, and then he slumped to the side, aided by Fenris’s boot thumping into his shoulder as the elf wrenched his bloody sword out of the man’s back.

Anders pried the dead man’s fingers from his neck and gasped for air, pushing himself up with shaking arms as he struggled to breathe.  Fenris slung his sword onto his back, staring down at Anders with his usual disapproval, and extended a hand.

“I killed four in the time it took you to almost get killed by one.  Not that I’m keeping track.”

Anders glared, but took the offered hand and let Fenris wrench him to his feet.  He staggered, hating himself for needing to grip Fenris’s arm for support.  “ … You know,” he wheezed, rubbing his sore throat, “if you’d given him a little more time, that would have been one less mage for you to worry about.”

Fenris frowned.  “ … Do you really think I was going to let you die?”

“Maybe it’s something in your eyes.”  Anders tested the strength of his legs, relieved when he could let go of Fenris’s arm.  “Maybe it’s something in the way you say, ‘Anders, I wish all mages were dead.’”

Fenris scowled.  “Enemies are for killing, friends are for fighting alongside.”

Anders managed a weak smile.  “Oh.  We’re friends?”

“ … _Allies_ are for fighting alongside.  Don’t read into it, mage.”  Fenris’s eyes darted away, finding Hawke’s motionless body.  His scowl melted, something tender and frightened crossing his face for just a moment.  He pulled a healing potion out of his belt and threw Anders one last look before commanding “Make sure Merrill is alive,” and rushing to Hawke’s side.

Anders heaved a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and testing how much magic his body could handle.  It was seeping back to him slowly, pooling like a cool spring in the back of his mind.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough for a healing spell or two.

He opened his eyes and limped his way over to Merrill’s unconscious form, kneeling next to her.  He could tell from her slow, shallow breathing that she was alive.  Anders ghosted his fingers over her arm, closing his eyes.  He could sense the poison within her, something slow-working and black and sticky.  It wouldn’t kill her now, or even within the hour, but if left unchecked, it would kill her within the day.  Eyes still closed, Anders pursed his brow, focused, and gently burned the poison away.

Merrill mumbled sleepily and blinked her emerald eyes open.  She pushed herself into a sitting position, swaying dizzily, and Anders placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t stand up.  The poison is gone, but your body is still weak.”

“Great Mythal… ”  Merrill rubbed a hand over her face.  “What happened?”

Anders’s reply was cut off by a stomach-turning scream of agony.  He pressed down harder on Merrill’s shoulder to make certain she didn’t stand.  “ _Sit,_ ” he repeated, pulling himself to his feet.  “I must tend to Hawke.”  

Hawke was sitting upright, trembling violently, gripping a terrified Fenris for support with one arm while clutching at his ribs with the other.  His teeth were clenched in agony, and thin noises slipped between them that made Anders’s throat constrict.  Fenris looked up at Anders in panic, an empty potion bottle in his hand.

“I-it wasn’t enough!” he stammered as the healer sat next to them.

Anders closed his eyes and pressed his hands to Hawke’s chest, reaching into the man’s body with his magic.  He winced at what he found.

“ … It’s a broken rib.”  Anders tried to still his churning stomach as he assessed the extent of the damage.  “Your potion healed the – the organ damage, but the bone is still shattered.  The pain is why he passed out.”

“Ch-charming,” Hawke ground out, his whole body shaking.  His face was pale, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow.  “H-how about you fix it now?”

Anders took a slow, deep breath, gathering his focus.  Healing Merrill had been simple, and his magic was beginning to return to him properly.  He let the cool flow of healing pour from his fingertips into Hawke’s injury, knitting up flesh and bone, flooding the entire area with a sweet, blissful numbness.  He could feel Hawke relax under his hands, hear the man let out a long, relieved breath.  It drained the tension from his own shoulders, as if he were the one being mended.  Anders poured and poured until his magic was gone again, until every inch of Hawke’s battered body was healed.  He let out an exhausted breath and opened his eyes.

“There,” he panted.  “You should be fine now.”

Hawke pressed a hand gingerly against the rib that had been broken.  “ … You’re a wonder, Anders,” he marveled.  He stretched out the arm that had been pierced with an arrow, flexing it.  “An absolute wonder.”

In spite of his exhaustion, Anders managed a smile.  “Oh, I bet you say that to all the men who heal your ribs.”

Hawke started pulling himself to his feet, snorting when Fenris tried to help him stand.  Anders sighed and stood up with slightly more difficulty, his own weary body protesting at the lack of healing magic.  Hawke caught sight of Merrill and quickly strode to her side, leaving Anders and Fenris alone.

“ … Thank you,” Fenris murmured, watching as Hawke fussed over Merrill.

Anders huffed, wiping sweaty hair out of his face.  “I’m a healer.  It’s what I do.”

“You have my gratitude all the same.”

Anders gave Fenris a tired smile.  “ … Hold on.  Did you just _thank_ me for using magic?”

“I thanked you for saving my lover from agony.”  Fenris’s eyes locked onto Anders.  “And I mean it.  Don’t try to twist this.”

Anders’s wry smile faded.  “ … I may not be his lover, but I can no more stand to see Hawke in pain than you can.”

Fenris gave him a strange look, his brow furrowing.  Then he turned his gaze away and stalked towards Hawke and Merrill.

“Let’s keep moving,” he announced, loud enough for the whole party this time.  “We’re in no shape to have another fight like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains a very brief, very vague reference to past sexual abuse.

The clinic was nearly empty, and in truth, that was how Anders liked it.  In a perfect world, the clinic would always be empty, no starving children and no sickly fathers, no to-be mothers who couldn’t find anywhere else to bear their children.

There were a few sick or wounded refugees asleep in his beds, lulled to restorative slumber by a helpful potion, but aside from that, Anders was alone.  He sat on one of the creaky, lumpy beds nearest the open door, resting his elbows on his knees, watching a mangy cat sniff suspiciously at the bowl of cream he’d left out.  

“It’s not going to bite you,” Anders murmured to the small creature with a smile.  The cat gave him a baleful glare before lowering its dark little muzzle to the milk and lapping hungrily.  

Eventually, it would be nice if the cat trusted him enough to receive ear rubs, or even sit on his lap.  But for now, Anders was more than content to watch it eat, and enjoy the company of possibly the only being in this city without an agenda.

The cat licked the cream from its whiskers, groomed a paw, and pattered away with its tail in the air, trotting out the open door.  Anders stood with a sigh and was about to go check the potion supply when a man poked his head through the door.

“ … Is this the clinic?” the man asked.

Anders nodded and beckoned the man inside.  “Sit down.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

The man stepped inside.  His kind face was just beginning to show signs of age, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, grey streaks in his brown ponytail.  Despite that, he held himself up straight and walked like a man who had known discipline, and it was clear there was still strength in his limbs.

“Do you have anything for… chills and pain?” the man asked, sitting down on the lumpy bed.

Anders strode towards the shelves behind the man, already running through potions in his mind.  “Can you be more specific?”

“It’s… ”  The man let out a defeated noise.  “I should just… tell you.  It’s lyrium.  I haven’t had any in a long time, and I intend not to have any more.  I just need something to… take the edge off.”

Anders’s fingers paused.  He turned towards his patient, staring at the back of the man’s head.

“ … How long has it been since you escaped the Circle?” he asked gently.

The man laughed, his broad shoulders lifting at the noise.  “O-oh, no, I’m not an apostate.  I used to be a Templar.”

Anders’s whole body stiffened.  Reflexively, his eyes darted to the corner of his room where his staff sat, innocently hidden beneath a blanket.  In the back of his mind, he could feel the bright, cold certainty of _Justice_ trying to pour from his fingers.

“Don’t worry, healer, you’ll hear no harsh words from me if you treat apostates here.  Everyone deserves their health.”

Anders’s heart hammered in his chest.  He turned back to his shelf of potions, his shaking hands selecting one that would dull pain.  Justice’s voice was growing stronger in the back of his mind.   _He is a Templar.  He is the problem.  He is injustice.  End him._

“What made you leave the Order?” Anders asked, trying to distract the voice.

“I shouldn’t speak ill of my brothers and sisters in arms, but… the Order is not what it used to be.”  The man’s voice sounded weary.  “I used to protect mages, keep them safe from demons, from each other.  I used to be proud when a mage  under my care passed their Harrowing.  The way things are now… ”  His voice trailed off and he shook his head.  “I shouldn’t speak of it.  It’s no longer my business.”

 _He kept the naughty little mages in line._ The thought made Anders’s knuckles whiten on his potion bottle.   _He kept a watchful eye on the powderkegs in their pretty pretty prison, making sure they were put down before they could blow up._

Anders tried to push the thoughts away.  The man may be an ex-Templar, but he seemed decent.  There had been disgust in his voice when he said _the way things are now,_ disgust for the abuses, the murders, the mages whose minds had been wrongfully stripped from them.

_He is a TEMPLAR._

“I-I don’t have anything that will negate the symptoms of lyrium withdrawl,” Anders confessed, walking back to the man’s bed.   _He’s looking the other way.  You can do it.  Kill him.  KILL HIM._ “But I have a potion that will make the aches and chills less terrible.”

The man looked over his shoulder with a weary smile.  “Andraste bless you.  Less terrible is all I was hoping for.”

_Do it now DO IT NOW._

Anders held out the potion, and the man took it gratefully.  “Just a few sips each day,” he instructed, speaking almost by reflex as Justice pounded in the back of his mind.  “Spread them out, don’t finish that bottle within the week.  If you have too much, you’ll get drowsy and sluggish.  If you drank the whole bottle now, it would probably stop your heart.”

_STOP HIS HEART YOURSELF.  DO IT NOW._

“Thank you, healer.”  The man stood up and pulled a sack of coins from his pocket.  “Here, for your trouble.”

Anders held up his hand.  “This is a free clinic, you don’t need to – ”

“I can afford it,” the man assured him.  His smile was sweet, and in a different moment, Anders might have been charmed.  “Buy yourself some new beds.  These ones are crap.”

_BURN HIM._

Anders took the coin with shaking hands.  “That’s… that’s very generous of you.”

The man gave him one more grateful nod before walking out the door and out of view.  Anders pressed a hand over his eyes and let out a thin, strained noise as Justice _raged_ in his head.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING GO AFTER HIM KILL HIM PUT HIM DOWN –_

“How is your demon treating you, abomination?”

Anders opened his eyes with a flinch, breathing hard.  Fenris stood in the doorway of the clinic, leaning on his sword, glaring like Anders was something unpleasant stuck on his boot.

Anders clenched his teeth until he felt sparks dance along them.  “Like a tender virgin.”

“You’re slipping.”  Fenris’s voice didn’t change.  “I can see his glow coming out of you.  Get him in line.”

The rage that boiled up in his chest was more _Anders_ than _Justice._ Anders took a deep breath, shuddering once, and focused all of his will on pushing Justice back into the shadows.

_The man is no longer a Templar.  He defied their abuses.  Killing him would not bring Justice.  This is Fenris.  He helps us fight the Templars.  Killing him would not bring Justice._

Like a pouting child, the fire of Justice’s rage slowly cooled.  Anders let out a slow breath and opened his eyes, glaring at Fenris.

“What do you want?”

Fenris shifted his grip on his sword, still leaning on it heavily.  “ … On second thought, I think I’ll take my chances with a healing potion,” he ground out, turning as if to leave.

Anders frowned and quickly crossed the room to the elf’s side.  Fenris flinched, but didn’t take an ounce of his weight off his weapon.

“ … Is your _ankle_ broken?”  Anders rubbed a hand over his face.  “Did you – did you _walk_ here like that?”

“It’ll be fine,” Fenris huffed.

“No, it won’t.  If you let a healing potion take care of that, it could heal crooked.”  Fenris rubbed a hand over his eyes and pointed at the nearest bed.  “Sit, you stubborn fuck.  Let me fix your ankle.”

Fenris looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but a shudder of pain nearly toppled him.  He gripped the door frame for support, leaning heavily on his sword like a crutch.  “Fine.”

Anders crossed his arms as he watched the elf stumble towards the nearest bed.  “Need help?” he asked dryly.

“No.”

Anders shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He strode easily across the room to the potion shelves as Fenris struggled his way to the nearest bed and collapsed.

Anders returned, uncorking a small potion.  “Drink this.”

Fenris took it, his hands wobbly with pain.  “I thought this wasn’t job for potions.”

Anders sat on the bed next to Fenris, letting a tingling numbness cover his hands before pressing them to the injured foot.  “A broken bone can cause marrow chunks to enter your blood, which can kill you if they reach the wrong part of your insides.  The potion will eliminate these chunks if they exist.”  He let his magic seep into Fenris’s ankle.

Fenris gave the potion one more assessing look before pulling the cork out and knocking it back like a shot.  He winced at the taste.

The intricate assortment of bone and tendons had been brutally twisted, Anders could immediately tell.  There was a hairline fracture in one of the foot bones, and several tendons had been partially torn.  Anders poured as much healing bliss into the surrounding tissue as he could before grabbing the tendons and pulling them back into place, growing back the torn tissue and healing the bone along with it.

Fenris stiffened in alarm, his eyes wide.  Although the movement shouldn’t have hurt him, he would still have felt the unsettling sensation of his bones and tendons moving inside his flesh.

Anders sighed and removed his hands.  “There.  You’re good to go.”

Fenris stretched out his leg experimentally. “ … Good.”

Anders stood up without a glance back, walking to his potion shelves.  Instead of hearing Fenris’s light footfalls leaving the clinic, he heard the man cough.

“ … I should say something.”

Anders hummed to his potions.  “Try ‘thank’ and ‘you’ and ‘Anders.’  And then maybe ‘bye.’”

Instead, Fenris walked towards him.  Anders turned around, uneasy as the elf approached.

Fenris crossed his arms, gave Anders the same dog-shit glare he always did, and grunted, “You did well.”

Anders blinked.  “It was a broken ankle.  I’ve seen worse.”

“I meant before.”  Fenris closed his eyes and heaved a sigh as if speaking pained him.  “The way you overcame your demon.  It must have been… difficult, and it’s good that you fight it.  That’s all I mean to say.”

For a moment, Anders couldn’t respond.  He was used to hatred, disgust, fear, but no one except Hawke had ever acknowledged how _difficult_ it was to live with a fallen spirit inside you.

“I am sure it is not the same,” Fenris continued, “but I know how it feels to fight something in your own mind.  It is never easy.”

Anders shook his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes, but Fenris remained stubbornly real in front of him, not an illusion.  “ … I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he replied honestly.

Fenris turned his gaze away and began to pace between the beds, his gaze wandering the walls.  “ … When I was a slave, I thought I _wanted_ to obey my master.  I thought I wanted to stay with him.  I thought I wanted… ”  Something dark passed through Fenris’s voice, something that made a twist of queasiness stir in Anders’s stomach.  “ … a lot of things.”  

Anders swallowed.  He didn’t trust his words, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Convincing myself that I didn’t need to obey him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” Fenris confessed.  He looked over his shoulder at Anders.  “He was never in my head the way your demon is in yours, but… he was in my head in many other ways, and it took strength to disobey him.  The way you fight your demon… it can only be harder than what I had to do.”

For a moment, all Anders could do was stare.  “I – I never expected to hear you say that, Fenris.”

Fenris frowned, turning to face him properly.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, mage.  Letting a demon possess you was foolish and dangerous.  But… ”  He sighed.  “At least you are trying to atone.”

“You flatter me,” Anders replied dryly.

“Know this: if you ever lose control of your demon, I will kill you.”

Anders snorted.  “Ah, and there’s the ruthless murderer we’ve come to know and love.  I was getting worried.”

“I will put you down _if_ you lose control, not until then.”  Fenris’s eyes narrowed, then he turned his face away.  “The demon ought to be destroyed.  The man… I think I rather prefer him alive.”

A snarky comeback rose to Anders’s lips, but he forced it down.  “ … It can’t be easy for you to say that to a mage.”

“It’s not,” Fenris ground out through his teeth.

Anders swallowed.  “I think… I think I prefer you alive as well, Fenris.”

Fenris coughed into his fist.  “ … Good.”  He brushed past Anders roughly, stalking away.

“ … Did we just flirt?” Anders called after him with a taunting smile.

Without turning around, Fenris raised his hand in a gesture that Anders didn’t recognize, but could easily interpret the meaning of.  He chuckled as the elf stepped outside the clinic and disappeared from view.


	5. Chapter 5

Night descended over Kirkwall, and with it came a rare, relieving coolness.  A gentle breeze washed the heat from Anders’s skin and made golden strands of hair dance before his face as he walked through the filthy streets.

… Not as filthy as the cracked, puddle-ridden cobblestones around Anders’s clinic, granted, which regularly crusted with globs unknown substances.  But even here in Hightown, there was a reek of sweat and sex and blood that soaked through the damp stones of the city.  Anders stared up at the street lamps as he walked, trying to figure out what he was going to say.  Or why he was even visiting Hawke in the first place.

 _Contrary to evidence, I don’t actually hate your boyfriend._ He should probably mince those words down into something prettier, but that was the gist of it.  He clashed with Fenris in front of Hawke too often, and it must put the man in an uncomfortable position.  If Anders really loved Hawke… as a friend, as a leader, as a champion… he should at least _try_ to get along with Fenris.  And he wanted Hawke to know that would happen.

Anders had to snort at himself.  The reason he was awake right now instead of passed out in a lumpy bed under cheap sheets, the reason he was wandering alone through Hightown at night, was to tell Hawke that the man had his… his blessing.

Fenris made Hawke happy.  Maker only knew why, but for whatever reason, it was true.  At the end of the day, that mattered more to Anders than he would admit.  And the elf wasn’t quite as unreasonable as Anders had initially thought, so maybe Hawke wasn’t completely crazy for being with him.

Anders’s boots scuffed on the cobblestones and stopped in front of Hawke’s lavish mansion.  He craned his neck back, staring at the high stone pillars crusted with ivy, still not sure what he was going to say.

 _Maybe you’re not completely crazy for being with Fenris._ If anything, that was probably worse than _I don’t actually hate your boyfriend._ He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before stepping into the courtyard, his boots falling softly on granite tiles as he approached the huge door.

A soft noise made him stiffen.  It sounded like the hushed breath of someone trying to be silent.  Suddenly tense, Anders moved from the golden light of the lamps into the shadows around the ivy, creeping around the side of Hawke’s estate, his boots brushing through the dew-covered grass.  The noises were barely audible, but it was definitely breathing, and it was definitely making Anders’s hair stand on end.  Who was sneaking around Hawke’s estate at night?  … Besides himself, anyway?

Around the corner was a small, square courtyard, pillars surrounding a tiny pool, high stone walls encompassing the little garden.  Moonlight caught in the still water as Anders crept through the shadows.  He peered around a corner and froze at what he saw.

In the cool shadows, Fenris leaned against the stone wall of the courtyard, his eyes closed in bliss, his fingers tangled in Hawke’s hair as the man kneeled in front of him.  Anders stood locked in place, unable to look away, unable to take a breath.  Fenris’s pants were pulled down to his knees, and Hawke’s calloused hands were splayed over the elf’s bare hips, pressing him against the stone wall, and Anders could hear – the soft breathing, the muffled moans – a different noise, something _wet_ –

He should leave them alone.  He hadn’t been invited to watch this.  But Anders couldn’t move his feet.  He was mesmerized by the slight heave of Fenris’s chest, the grip of his hands in Hawke’s hair, the lean lines of Hawke’s back leading down to those _unfairly_ tight leather pants he wore –

Anders’s pulse was racing, his face hot.   _Imagine Hawke pinning you to the wall like that – his hands holding you in place, his mouth –_ Irreverent to his wishes, Anders could feel his body responding to the sight of them together, the noises he could hear, the thought of…   _Imagine pinning Fenris to the wall like that – your hands holding him in place, your mouth –_

His gaze wandered back up, along the toned muscles of Fenris’s arms, and his heart nearly stopped when he realized the elf was staring back at him.

Anders staggered, his eyes wide.  Rather than saying anything, Fenris gave Anders a smile that only made the burning in his cheeks worse.  As Anders watched, transfixed, Fenris slowly wound his fingers around a handful of Hawke’s short, dark hair, and _pulled._

Hawke _moaned,_ his whole body shuddering in pleasure, his spine arching.  A soft gasp slipped out of Anders, and he clapped a hand over his mouth in horror to muffle it.  Fenris’s smile grew, his teeth dragging slowly over his lower lip, his heated gaze fixed on Anders as he pulled on Hawke’s hair again, dragging the man’s mouth further onto –

Anders ripped his gaze away and bolted out of the courtyard.

His feet pounded over grass and then granite tiles and then the bumpy cobblestones of Hightown’s streets.  Not even the balmy night breeze gusting over his face could relieve the heat in his cheeks.

He shouldn’t have stayed that long, he shouldn’t have watched.  It was rude.  It was something private between Hawke and Fenris and he shouldn’t have _enjoyed_ it like that – he shouldn’t still be enjoying it now, still be enraptured by the memory of Hawke’s moan, the thought of kneeling down behind the man and kissing his neck and pulling those tight pants down –

The aroma of Hightown became the stench of Lowtown, and before Anders knew it, he was back in his clinic, leaning against the closed door and panting.  He rubbed a hand over his face with a frustrated groan and wandered to his personal quarters.  Lumpy bed.  Cheap sheets.  Sleep.  Maybe this was a weird dream.

Even before Anders shut his door, stripped down, and crawled under the thin covers, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep without giving himself some release.


	6. Chapter 6

The brief coolness of the night vanished with the sunrise.  By the time Anders had yawned, stretched, and made himself a strong cup of tea so he could face the day, the clinic was sweltering once more.

Throughout the morning, Anders busied himself with patients and with the endless battle of keeping the clinic tidy, trying to forget the previous night.  Eventually, he started restricting himself to tasks that he could do in privacy, where no one would catch a glimpse of just how poorly his pants were fitting.  Restocking the bandages.  Organizing the potions.  Doing laundry, tending to the empty beds in the private patient rooms.  It probably didn’t reflect well on Anders that he couldn’t keep his arousal at bay even when he was stripping the beds of their filthy (sometimes bloody) sheets and tucking in slightly-less filthy ones.  

Fantasies swam through his mind, unbidden.  The sight of Fenris biting Hawke’s lip in an aggressive kiss.  The firm, assertive push of Hawke’s strong hands pushing Anders onto a bed.  Fenris’s voice chuckling somewhere behind him, murmuring _he looks good underneath you_ as Hawke’s mouth moved down Anders’s body –

Despite his efforts to distract himself, Anders could feel his face heating as he leaned over a lumpy mattress to smooth the sheets out, as much as they could be smoothed.  Yesterday he had made up his mind that he was going to leave the two alone, stop fighting with Fenris, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about _joining_ them.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the view, but, uh – ”

Anders choked on a yelp and struggled to straighten up, nearly falling backwards onto the bed as he spun around.  Hawke was giving him a sympathetic smile, clearly trying not to laugh.  He was holding something behind his back.

“Need a hand there?”

“I’mfine!” Anders spilled out, hoping his blush wasn’t visible.  It probably was.  He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat, trying not to stare at Hawke’s mouth, not to remember what he’d last seen it doing.  “What – what do you need?”

… Did Hawke know he had been watching last night?

Hawke pulled a thick bundle of elfroot leaves out from behind his back, offering it to Anders.  “Here, I’ve been gathering it.  It’s not quite a bouquet of flowers, but I imagine you’ll find it more useful than flowers.”

Anders took the bundle of herbs gratefully.  “Hawke this is – we’ll be able to make so many potions with this.  Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.  Making a pretty man smile is its own reward.”

Anders’s heart skipped.  For a moment he clutched the herbs to his chest like a flustered schoolboy, then he cleared his throat and laid them down on the bed.

… Bed.  Right next to him.  With Hawke in front of him.  In a private room, alone…  Anders swallowed, his heart pounding.

“D-did you want something from me?” he tried.

Hawke’s smile was entirely too playful.  “Oh, I’m sure I could think of _something_ I want from you.”

Merciful Andraste, the man could make a darkspawn blush.  Anders tried to keep his head clear, but it was hard with Hawke _looking_ at him like that, like he was some sort of pastry sweet.  “Hawke, I – I do have chores I should be doing – ”

“Don’t let me keep you.  I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need something from me, since you came by last night.”

Anders’s heart nearly stopped.  He tried to find words, but all that came out was an embarrassing stammer.  “U-u-um – ”

“Fenris said he saw you.”  Hawke’s boots shifted on the dirt floor, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth thoughtfully.  “He also said that you liked what you saw – ”

“H-Hawke!”

“It’s too fun to make you blush, Anders.”

“I – ”  Anders took a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling to stay focused.  “I’m sorry I walked in on the two of you like that.  I should have – ”

“What, knocked?”  Hawke chuckled.  “We were outside.”

“I shouldn’t have watched – ”

“Anders, stop apologizing.  Do I look upset?”

Anders swallowed.  Hawke wore a relaxed smile, a slight concerned purse to his eyebrows, not an ounce of tension in his shoulders.  No, he didn’t look upset.  He looked…

… Pleased.

Hawke took a step closer, standing barely a foot away, and Anders had to bite his lip to hold back a desperate noise.   _Maker’s breath, just throw me onto the bed._

“Are _you_ upset, Anders?” Hawke asked gently.

Anders shook his head, wide-eyed.  “C-couldn’t be better.”

“Then it seems like everyone’s happy.”  Hawke tsked and reached towards Anders’s face, and Anders’s heart pounded.   _Grab my hair.  Bite my neck.  Bend me over the bed –_

Hawke’s fingers gently brushed a strand of loose hair out of Anders’s face.  Anders’s whole body shuddered as he felt Hawke tuck the strand behind his ear, felt the man’s calloused fingertips trail over the sensitive shell.  Hawke’s fingers teased down, brushing his ear lobe, finding the base of his jaw.  Anders’s knees wobbled, his breath catching in his throat as Hawke’s fingers trailed along the length of his jaw, light, teasing.  They stopped under Anders’s chin, tilting his face up, and Anders nearly whined.

“Maybe I can make you happier, though.”  Hawke bit his lip.  Suddenly, cruelly, he pulled his hand away, leaving Anders tingling.  “If you don’t have chores to do, that is – ”

“ _Hawke,_ ” Anders interrupted, nearly panting.  “Maker’s breath, I am doing my _best_ to hold myself back – ”

“I can see that,” Hawke chuckled.

“ – But I’m still a man.  Don’t expect me to resist forever.”

Hawke chuckled, taking another step closer and leaning in until they were almost sharing breath.  His voice was a teasing whisper that nearly brushed Anders’s lips.  

“How long will it take before I drive you mad?”

Anders’s frustrated groan only managed to half leave his lips before he grabbed Hawke’s face and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss.  The strength nearly went out of his legs when Hawke moaned against him and returned it ravenously.   _Kissing Hawke you’re kissing Hawke you’re actually kissing Hawke and he’s kissing you back –_

Anders didn’t understand how a man who spent all day walking around in the filth of Kirkwall and gutting bandits could smell like _honey,_ but Hawke did, something earthy and sweet and floral underneath the smell of sweat, something that made Anders never want to pull away from him.  Hawke’s hands wandered to Anders’s hips, pulling him close with a sharp yank, pressing their bodies together.  Anders broke away from Hawke’s mouth to gasp for air before diving in again, shuddering in bliss.  The movement of Hawke’s lips and tongue, the rough scrape of beard, the possessive hands sliding from his hips to his ass, it was all turning his knees to jelly, sending his heart racing like a wild horse.  He felt Hawke’s teeth on his lip, a soft bite, and he rolled his hips forward against the man’s firm body with a hungry groan.

It took all of his self control to break the kiss, to push himself back from the warm, solid press of Hawke’s body.

“I – I can’t – ”  Shaking, Anders struggled to catch his breath.  “I can’t, you – you’re with Fenris.  Maker knows I don’t get along with the man, but that doesn’t mean I want to – ”  Anders swallowed.  “ – do _this_ to him.”

Hawke’s face melted into worry.  He cupped Anders’s cheek.  “Do you really think I would hurt him like that?”

Anders shuddered at the warm touch of Hawke’s hand.  “Please, don’t make this any harder – ”

“Anders, _listen_.  I could no more hurt Fenris than I could hurt you.”

“Then why – ”

Hawke chuckled, and his gaze drifted to something past Anders’s shoulder.  “If you’re so worried about Fenris, why not ask the man himself?”

A bolt of panic shot down Anders’s spine.  He shoved himself away from Hawke’s arms like the man’s touch had burned him, spinning on his heel to face –

Leaning against the door frame, watching, was Fenris.  The blood drained from Anders’s face.  He hadn’t even heard the elf enter.  How long had he been standing there, watching another man kiss his lover?  Guilt coiled in Anders’s belly, and he took another step away from Hawke, as if that would make things better.

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” Fenris taunted.  “I was rather enjoying it.”

Anders blinked, stunned.  He tried to breathe as Fenris’s hungry gaze pinned him in place.  The elf wasn’t angry.  He had a right to be, but he wasn’t.  Anders swallowed, his heart pounding.  Fenris didn’t even look… _surprised_.

As Anders watched, paralyzed, Fenris pushed away from the wall and crossed the room in a few long strides.  Hawke watched him approach with a smile, wrapping an arm around Fenris’s waist as the elf stepped close.  Fenris threw Anders one more smirk before pulling Hawke’s face close and kissing him.  

A thin noise escaped Anders at the sight.  Fenris grabbed a fistful of Hawke’s hair, claiming his mouth with a low groan while Hawke pulled his body closer.  The heat in Anders’s body only spread as he watched them kiss in front of him, heard their soft breaths as they separated.

“You taste like wine,” Hawke teased.  “What have I told you about a proper breakfast not including wine?”

“Well you taste like _mage_ ,” Fenris shot back.  He gave Anders a savage grin.  “Are mages part of a proper breakfast?”

“Well, they _can_ be.”

Anders swallowed.  Fenris was giving him the kind of look that Anders had only seen on wolves before, and it was making his pulse skip.  His heart leapt into this throat as Fenris pulled away from Hawke and strode towards him, long strides that thumped against the bare dirt floor.  Anders couldn’t breathe, listening to his own heart hammer in his ears as Fenris’s sharp gauntlet wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place as Fenris leaned in –

A gasp slipped out of Anders as Fenris’s mouth found his own, possessive and biting.  He grabbed the elf’s slim, powerful frame, pulling him closer with one arm, returning the kiss hungrily as he tangled his free hand in that snow-white hair.  Fenris let out a muted snarl, his armored hand tightening on the back of Anders’s neck, and Anders whimpered.  Merciful Andraste, Fenris kissed like it was a competition, like he intended to win through sheer dominance.

Calloused hands found Anders’s hips, and he broke the kiss with a gasp as he felt Hawke’s body press up behind him.

“Easy, Fenris,” Hawke whispered, scraping his teeth over Anders’s neck.  “Anders has _chores_ to do.  He doesn’t have time to play with us.”

“Hawke,” Anders panted, “I swear before Andraste, I will smite you where you stand – ”

Hawke chuckled before locking his hand gently around Anders’s chin, tilting the man’s face and leaning in to kiss him.  Anders shivered, whining into Hawke’s mouth when he felt Fenris’s teeth on his ear, heard the elf growl.

“Our door will be open tonight,” Hawke murmured against Anders’s lips.  “If you’re interested.”

“I think he’s interested,” Fenris snickered.

“All the same… ”  

Hawke gave Anders one more kiss before pulling back.  As if it were orchestrated, Fenris stepped back as well, leaving Anders flushed and swaying and out of breath.

“Take some time,” Hawke suggested.  “Think about it.  You don’t need to decide tonight.”

Anders rubbed a hand over his tingling lips.  He wasn’t sure how his legs were still holding him up.  “Th-this was – this was all just to _ask_ me?”

Hawke shot a dirty look at Fenris.  “We weren’t supposed to rile him up this much.”

Fenris laughed.  “You are just as guilty as I, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You really – want – ”  Anders swallowed, and his eyes settled on Fenris.  “ _Both_  of you want – ”

“Only if you want both of us,” Hawke cut in.  “Like I said, you should think about it.  You’ll still be my mage even if you say no.”

He turned and walked out the door, and Anders didn’t even try to keep his eyes from wandering down the rogue’s body.  He shook his head as he realized Fenris was still in the room, still staring at him.

“Wh-what now?” he managed.

Fenris’s eyes narrowed.  “ … You’re worried that I don’t respect you.”

Anders heaved an exasperated sigh and sat heavily down on the bed, resting his chin in his hands.  “If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have said that I know for a fact you don’t.  Now… well, you don’t want me dead, and apparently you like kissing me, so that’s nice.”

“I do respect you.”

“That’s… good to hear, I suppose.”

“I don’t know about every mage, but I don’t think you belong in a Circle.”

Anders blinked, looking up as Fenris stepped close to him.  “That’s – wow, Fenris, I – ”

Fenris leaned down, arms crossed, holding Anders’s gaze.  “I also want to fuck you into a mattress until you scream.”

The blood rushed to Anders’s face, his stomach flipping.  Reflexively, invitingly, his knees spread wider.  Fenris’s gaze dropped between them, and he straightened up with a smug grin.

“See you tonight,” he taunted before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.  Anders watched him go, his heart pounding, harder than he’d ever been in his life.


	7. Chapter 7

The day dragged by agonizingly.  Anders could barely get through an hour or two of work without his thoughts drifting to that morning, to the ghost of lips on his own, teeth on his neck, hands on his hips, a hot body pressed against his.  It made his breath quicken.  Beyond that, it made him nearly worthless around the clinic, too flustered and distracted to get anything done.  He resigned himself to the simplest of tasks, struggling to focus on even those.

 _Our door will be open tonight._ The words circled through his head as Anders prepared the elfroot Hawke had brought.  It had been a long time since he had known the intimate company of someone other than his own skilled hands.  With the clinic, with Justice, with everything, his release would come only when he was curled up alone in his lumpy bed, face pressed into the pillow to muffle his whimpers, teasing his own body into toe-curling bliss with soft touches and gentle prickles of electrical magic.

He ached for the touch of someone else’s hands.  For someone else to be holding his face into that pillow.  Or maybe pulling his head back, making his spine arch, so the moans spilled un-hindered from his lips.  More than once, Anders had closed his eyes when he was alone and pretended that Hawke was the one touching him.  He’d never admitted to himself how jealous he was of Fenris, getting to feel Hawke’s hands, Hawke’s lips, the heat of his bare body.  

He’d had a taste of it, now.  And he starved for the promise of more.

Anders paused in his work, a freshly-plucked elfroot leaf still in his hand.  He stared at the pile of plants without really seeing them.  It wasn’t just Hawke who drew him anymore.  For the first time, he found his fantasies invaded by Fenris’s low voice and biting kisses, the thought of the elf’s harsh armor pressed against his bare body.  Anders swallowed hard and managed to set down the leaf he was holding.  Did Fenris fuck the same way he kissed, with the savagery of a wolf?  The thought made his knees weak.

_Our door will be open tonight._

Anders tried to still his pounding heart, and plucked another leaf with shaking hands.

—-

The door to Hawke’s bedroom loomed before Anders like a guillotine.  He swallowed, staring at the dark wood, the shining brass handle.  He could barely remember walking up the plush stairs to get here, but he must have done it, because here he was.  So that meant that at some point, he must have decided that, yes, he _was_ ready to have his clothes ripped off by the man he’d been nursing a crush on for the past six years _and_ that man’s ferocious elf boyfriend.

… It wasn’t too late to go back down those plush velvet stairs.

He could hear soft noises on the other side of the door.  Low murmuring, a soft hum that could only be pleasure.  Anders’s heart raced, his hand no closer to knocking on the door.  Were they already… doing things in there?  Maybe he should leave them alone.

Not that their invitation to join hadn’t been… _really_ explicit.

Anders swallowed.  He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and rapped twice on the door.

The murmuring stopped.  Footsteps approached, and Anders’s heart pounded.  A sudden panic gripped him that he would have no idea what to do once he stepped into that room.  It had been so long.  Once, he had prided himself on his talents in the bedroom, his ability to bring a lover to the peak of gasping pleasure, but it had been so _long –_

The door clicked and swung open, and Anders was face-to-scruffy-face with Hawke.  … Shirtless, flushed Hawke, looking like someone had just kissed his breath away.  Anders swallowed again.  Behind Hawke, sitting on the soft, velvet bed and just as bare-chested, was Fenris.

“Told you he would come,” Fenris taunted.

Anders’s eyes darted back to Hawke, then dropped guiltily to the man’s body.  Lean and toned, a dusting of dark hair that Anders was _itching_ to run his hands over –

“Well, Anders?”  Hawke opened the door wider with a smile.  “Would you like to come in?”

Anders stepped forward, grabbed a thick fistful of Hawke’s hair, and pulled him into a kiss.  Hawke returned it with a soft moan, his hands already finding the clasps of Anders’s clothes and undoing them with the same speed and precision he would use to pick locks and disarm traps.  One by one, Hawke’s deft hands made quick work of Anders’s layers, letting them fall in a pile at his feet.  Anders groaned, keeping one hand fisted in Hawke’s hair, trailing his fingers down the man’s spine.  He’d been wrong to worry.  Now that he was back in a lover’s embrace, this felt as natural as breathing.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Hawke muffled into the kiss.  He popped the buttons on Anders’s undershirt one at a time, quick presses of fingers that sent tingles down Anders’s spine.  

“You should show up naked next time,” Fenris added with a chuckle.  

From the corner of his eye, Anders could see Fenris walking towards them.  He pulled back from Hawke’s lips so he could soak in the new view.  Fenris had the characteristic slimness of an elf, but he was _corded_ in muscle, accustomed to demolishing foes with pure strength.  Anders’s gaze wandered down, from the hungry grin to the toned chest, the flat stomach, the tantalizing V of hipbones leading into the frustrating presence of _pants_.

“ … _I_ have to walk through streets to get here,” Anders shot back.  “I can’t be prancing around naked, I might offend the important Hightown residents.  What’s your excuse for all these pants you’re wearing?”  

Fenris laughed again and stepped close.  “Take them off, then.”

“A few rules first,” Hawke cut in.

Grudgingly, Anders tore his gaze away from Fenris, meeting Hawke’s eyes.

“Firstly,” Hawke began, “the watchword is ‘lyrium.’  Say it if you’re uncomfortable at any point, and we’ll stop.  I’m fine if you prefer me in a more submissive role, but Fenris isn’t okay with that, at least for now.  Lastly, no magic in the bedroom.  Is that all good?”

Anders thought for a moment and shrugged.  “As for the ‘no magic’ bit, I won’t lose control, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  He gave Hawke a sweet smile.  “But I need to warn you, you’re missing out on my favorite application of magic.”

“The no-magic rule is for me,” Fenris cut in sharply.  “You and Hawke can do whatever pleases you on your own, but I’d better not see a spark tonight.”

Anders held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.  “No sparks.  I’ll be a good little mage.  Powerless against the big, tough warrior.  Is that what you’d like?”

He had meant it as a joke.  But at Anders’s words, Fenris’s breath hitched and his eyes darkened.  Under the dusky tone of his skin, Anders could see a _blush._

Anders’s smile melted and he swallowed.  His arms fell limply to his side, his pulse suddenly skipping.  “O-oh.  You… _do_ like that.”

Fenris looped his fingers into the hem of Anders’s pants and yanked him close, pressing their hips together.  He grabbed a rough fistful of Anders’s hair, leaning close until his breath was steaming against Anders’s lips.

“Keep talking,” he growled.

Anders shuddered, and his arousal twitched in his pants.  Behind him, he could hear Hawke chuckle and close the door, hear it click as it locked.


	8. Chapter 8

Dreams faded slowly as the sun crept across Anders’s face, chasing away the steam of the night.  Anders blinked his eyes open.  He could see Hawke’s bedroom window from here, see the golden light outside.  A habit of rising with the sun was hammered into his body, and a part of him itched to climb out of bed and get on with the day.  But with his bare body sunk deep into a feather mattress and nestled under velvet blankets, basking in the warmth of two other bodies, that part of him wasn’t very loud.

Anders yawned and closed his eyes again, resting his cheek against Fenris’s shoulder.  His arm was slung over the elf’s sleeping form, their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, their legs tangled.  Fenris’s face was soft with sleep, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling softly.  On his other side, Hawke was snoring into Fenris’s neck, one lean arm wrapped around the elf’s waist and holding him close.

The thick velvet blankets were only pulled up waist-high.  Even this early in the morning, it was too warm for anything more.  Anders’s eyes wandered down Fenris’s exposed chest, over the pale lines of lyrium that riddled his dark skin.  The happy glow in his heart dimmed slightly as he wondered how Fenris had gotten the scars.  He only knew that Fenris’s former master had done it, that magic had been involved, and that it had been painful.

Anders lifted a hand, his fingers tracing the air above Fenris’s scars without touching them, marveling at the patterns they made.  The scars were sensitive, he knew that much after last night.  Hawke had shown him how to touch Fenris properly, how to give the pale scars soft caresses and kisses, nothing rough.  He’d heard the low noises of pleasure that spilled from Fenris’s lips, the gasps. 

But the implication was clear: there was an _improper_ way to touch the scars too, one that would be a lot less pleasant for Fenris.  There had been too much care in the way Hawke handled his lover, too much caution.

A soft breath made Anders glance up at Fenris’s face.  The elf’s eyes were open, watching the dance of Anders’s fingers over his chest.  Anders pulled his hand back.

“Do they cause you pain?” he asked gently.

Fenris’s gaze was guarded for a moment.  Then he let out a huff and looked away.  “ … Only sometimes.  It depends on how they’re touched.”

“I might be able to help with that.”

Anders felt Fenris’s body stiffen against him.

“I hope you’re not suggesting magic,” the elf ground out.

Anders frowned.  “Never.  I know how you got them.”  He sighed, his gaze wandering back to the silvery lines that crossed Fenris’s chest.  “ … I may be able to craft a salve or potion, something that will make them less sensitive to pain.  If you are interested.”

For a moment, Fenris was silent, watching him carefully.  Something in the elf’s eyes suddenly reminded Anders of the cat that prowled outside his clinic.  It was that same expression, wary and hunted, claws sheathed for now.  Teetering on the cusp of trust.

“ … I would appreciate that,” Fenris said at last.

Anders found himself smiling.  He tucked his face back into the crook of Fenris’s neck, letting out a content sigh.

“ … We have something in common, Anders.”

Anders smirked into Fenris’s neck before pulling back to give the elf a dirty smile.  “It’s true.  We both really love that thing you do with your tongue.”

“I’m not talking about _that_ ,” Fenris grated.  He turned his gaze down towards Hawke, snoring quietly against his chest.  “We would both die for this man.”

Anders’s expression softened as he watched Hawke’s slow, peaceful breathing.  Sleep had mellowed the lines of Hawke’s face, melted away the hardness and the shadows, the mercenary and the assassin.  It was good to see him like this, no worry creasing his brow, no smears of blood on his face.  Anders had never been reserved with his affections, never had difficulty falling in love, but something about Hawke was special.  Anders lifted his gaze and found Fenris’s eyes again.

“Protect him for me.”

Fenris met his eyes with the same intensity.  “Protect him _with_ me.”

Hawke grunted softly in his sleep, stirring.  Anders and Fenris both fell silent as he blinked his eyes open and gave them a tired smile.

“Mmm.  Good view,” Hawke mumbled.  He pulled himself up the bed just enough to press his lips against Fenris’s, nipping at them with a chuckle and drawing a snort from the elf.  Anders watched with a smile.  Hawke sat up, leaning over Fenris’s body to cup Andes’s face and kiss him too, a slow movement of lips that had Anders’s eyes fluttering closed.  When they pulled apart, Hawke was grinning.

“I should wake up to this every morning,” he remarked, settling back on the bed.

“That’s because you’re greedy,” Fenris shot back.

“I didn’t think you minded, Fenris.  You and Anders seemed to get along excellently last night.”

“I tend to get along well with people I’m fucking.”

Anders settled back against the mattress and folded his arms behind his head with a sigh as he listened to them bicker.   _I’m naked in a bed next to Fenris.  Who would have guessed?_ Anders had suspected that he and Hawke might tumble into bed together some day, but never _Fenris._ Just weeks ago, he would have laughed if someone suggested it.  Even a few days ago, when Fenris had stumbled into Anders’s clinic with a broken ankle and a sour glare, Anders wouldn’t have…

Anders frowned up at the drapery of the bed, ignoring the grumpy snuggles that Hawke and Fenris had devolved into.  Fenris had walked into Anders’s clinic early in the morning.  As far as Anders knew, Hawke hadn’t been on a mission then, and couldn’t have taken Fenris anywhere that should have resulted in injury.

“ … How did you break your ankle?” Anders mumbled, rolling on his side to face the pair.

Fenris’s eyes snapped open wide and a flush spread across his face.  Hawke let out a frustrated sigh.

“Well, Anders, you see – ”

“None of your business!” Fenris barked.

“I was walking up the stairs to my room,” Hawke continued, “and _someone_ decided they couldn’t wait another ten seconds to have me – ”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Fenris grumbled hotly.

“Which was lovely, until his foot slipped – ”

“Well _someone_ bucks like a horse when he comes, Hawke!  Maybe that’s why my foot slipped!”

“ – And the craziest part of this is that he didn’t _tell_ me he broke his ankle on the fall.  He just pinned me down at the bottom of the stairs and _kept fucking.”_

“ … I wasn’t done yet,” Fenris sulked.

“ … So he finishes and I’m thinking, ‘well, that was fun, a little dangerous, probably shouldn’t do it again,’ and Fenris says – ”

“ _Hawke – ”_

“I’ll meet you later for breakfast, I think I broke my ankle – ”

Fenris snarled and shoved Hawke off the bed.  Hawke fell to the floor with a thump and a laugh, and a moment later Fenris pounced on him.  Anders sat up, peering over the edge of the bed, eyes wide as he watched the men grapple and curse and tumble on the floor.  Hawke was laughing.

“ _I think I broke my ankle, Hawke, no big deal_ – ”

“Shut up!”

“And then you – nhh – limped out like it was normal – ”

“ _You’ll be limping when I’m done, Hawke!”_

“Ha, I usually do – _oooooh fuck, Fenris_ – ”

Hawke’s laughter trailed into moans, and Anders’s face flushed red.  Fenris sat on top of Hawke, straddling him, his powerful arms pinning Hawke’s wrists to the floor.  As Anders watched, Fenris rolled his hips in a slow grind against his lover.

“Apologize.”

“F-for what, I’m not the one who broke your ankle – _aaah fuck – ”_

Anders swallowed at the sight.  He nearly fell off the bed when Fenris’s angry green eyes snapped up to him. Fenris reached up and grabbed a rough fistful of Anders’s hair, snarling up at him.

“ _Get down here,_ ” he rumbled.  

Anders yelped as he was pulled off the bed.


End file.
